Silence
by LoriDeux
Summary: It all starts out innocently enough. He looks quiet and alone and she think that if there was a person in the world who could come close to understand her, it just might be Draco Malfoy. / Anyways, does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?


_**Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?**_

_**-Lawrence Durrell **_

-.-.-.-

She knows what it means.

If there's one thing Hermione Granger has always relished and prided herself in (without a doubt), it may very well be her intelligence.

'_Brightest Witch of her age'_ and all that rubbish.

Silence (noun): absence of any sound or noise; stillness.

She knows how to use the word; every way in which it may function and every definition for it known to man (muggle and wizard alike). She knows all the synonyms and antonyms and that its origin is somewhere between the years 1175 to 1225, born from the Latin _silentium_.

She knows that people throughout the world constantly moan after their desired silence; quiet. Similarly, she knows that there are those who swear they would trade it all for just a moment of this; of complete tranquility and a void of noise.

_Peace_, they call it.

She knows; she's heard them all.

It's all irrelevant, though, because she _hates_ it.

Hates it with a passion that tears at the fragile scraps of her battered soul; threatening to consume her if she was to ever give in to the beautiful promises of _nothingness_ that it whispers in her ear when there's nothing else to hear.

So, like the warrior that she is and always has been, she fights it.

-.-.-.-

"How could you, Hermione?"

She flinches, and the wave of guilt that threatens to wash over her is quickly evaporated by the anger that courses through her body at the incessant accusations being directed her way. She's finished listening to the two boys, the two _men_, who were supposed to be her best friends treating her as if she was a child making _stupid_ and _irrational_ decisions. The way they look at her reminds her of the looks she'd catch in the gazes of their old enemies, no doubt what they were now in the brink of considering her. What everybody in the wizarding community would consider her when it became public knowledge.

They're looking at her as if she were a traitor.

And for the first time, she thinks she can truly understand _him_ and his reluctance, his _resentment_.

"How could I what, Ronald?" she questions him, arching her eyebrows and placing her hands on her hips to demonstrate her defiance when she watches his face turner a darker shade of red and his nostrils flare as his pressure rises. Beside him, Harry shuffles his feet and clenches his fist before forcing himself to take a few soothing breaths to regain his control.

"You have to understand, 'Mione," harry begins, forcing her nickname to pass through his lips with as much sincerity as he can muster, no doubt in an effort to reach her sentimental and rational side. She knows they think she's gone insane; that they have to _make_ her see the error of her ways. "You had to have known we wouldn't be okay with you seeing that _man_. For Merlin's sake, we all hated him."

"Because you don't understand him," she retorts, determined to not excuse past behaviors, but instead defend the effort he'd made to change. "He is a good man and he- "

"No!" she's cut off by Ron's outburst, his entire body trembling with rage and, by instinct, Hermione's hand falls to her pocket, her fingertips reaching in and wrapping themselves around the handle of her wand. It takes her mind a moment to remember that this is Ron and he is her best friend and he would never hurt her, but her grip won't listen to her rationality as the instinct to prepare herself against any danger has yet to leave her body. "Bloody Hell, it's fucking Malfoy! He's the Ferret! If you were feeling suicidal you didn't have to shag the damn Death Eater!"

"He's not a Death Eater!"

"He has the Dark Mark! He and his family tried to kill all of us for years! What more proof does your giant brain need!?"

Hermione shakes her head, closing her eyes as the relentless headache she had only recently managed to be rid of returns with a vengeance, pounding at her skull and threatening to crack through. "Why aren't you listening to me? How could you not trust my judgment when I've rarely ever been wrong before? What makes this so different?"

This time, Harry is the one to speak as Ron paces through the tiny space of her living room. "The fact that you can't see the difference is what scares us the most, 'Mione," he sighs, lowering his gaze to the floor. "You can't be with him; it isn't right and he's only using you for who knows what reason, please don't play into it."

"I can't believe either of you," she laments, and her stance finally breaks as she recognizes the refusal in both their eyes. They're not going to understand her. They won't _forgive_ her for her _indiscretion_, in their minds at least.

They all stay quiet then, and the silence is deafening as they stare at her. She feels a stray tear stroll down her cheek, hitting the soft material of her blouse at the exact moment that she realizes she's crying. She's torn between screaming at them that they're being foolish wankers, or telling them to leave and never come back for the same reason. Still, she can't decide, and the two best friends are turning to make their way out of her home when the familiar sound of her fireplace roars through the room, halting all of their steps.

He stares at her, scanning her face for every sign of distress and then turns his infamous glare onto the men standing in front of her. His face looks cold and relentless, the aristocratic features hardening in a way that sends a chill down her spine as his grey eyes turn to solid steel.

"This fucking circus ends now."

So demanding. So stoic.

So much like the man he was when this all began.

-.-.-.-

**Hope you guys like it so far, I'll be updating soon!**

**Don't forget to review! **

**-Lori **


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